Stills of Different Lives

by thezenithcalls

Summary:

A collection of Aragorn/Legolas one shots. Some will be happy, some will be sad, and none of them will be connected. Each fic is based on a song, but don't be fooled, these are in no way song fics. They're just inspired by them.

Chapter 1: Abstract (Psychopomp)

Summary:

Aragorn finds Legolas across a stream cradling something in his arms.

Abstract (Psychopomp) by Hozier on Unreal Unearth: Unending

Notes:

I have an aralas playlist, and I want to make a fic for everything on it. This is just the beginning

CW: animal death

Night is falling, and the Fellowship has stopped for the evening. They gather around burning logs, sharpening weapons, conversing quietly, or, in the case of two certain hobbits, messing around with stones to see who can throw them the farthest.

Aragorn, for his part, idly pokes at the small flames to prepare them to cook a decent meal. His sword is sharpened and he has no one to make conversation with since the elf accompanying them has vanished into the thick woods.

"Um, Mr. Strider, sir?" Sam calls meekly from the other side of the budding fire, interrupting his thoughts. "We're running low on food. We don't have enough for the night."

Aragorn surveys their supplies. They have some fruit and bread, but Sam is right. There's not enough to feed the four insatiable hobbits, let alone the entire Fellowship.

"Eat what is left, Master Gamgee," he commands softly as he readies a bow. "I will hunt."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam give an apple to Frodo, softly coaxing him to eat.

They've been on this quest for over a month already, Aragorn muses as he walks, and some of them are faring better than others. Boromir and Gimli have adapted well to their travels, and, surprisingly, as have Merry and Pippin. They two rambunctious halflings have retained their gaiety, uplifting the spirits of the entire Fellowship. Even Gandalf has managed a smile or two despite his dislike of Pippin.

Sam and Frodo have not been so lucky. The Ring weighs them both down. Frodo has hardly been able to eat or sleep, and Sam frets over him like the other hobbit will disappear if he leaves his sight for even a moment. They're both exhausted and Aragorn's heart breaks for them. They did not deserve to be the subjects of such a burden.

And, of course, no one knows how Gandalf feels or what he's thinking. As is par for the course.

As for Aragorn, he is perfectly at home on an adventure, and he knows Legolas is as well. The elf is happy to be out of Mirkwood for a time, feeling the breeze of places he's never known and seeing the world without the need to be royal.

Not that he knows where Legolas is right now. The moment Aragorn called for them to stop, the elf ditched his bow and many outer layers and disappeared into the trees. He won't be found if he doesn't want to be, and Aragorn tries to ignore the stinging in his heart.

As he listens and looks for something that will feed them, he tries not to think about the overwhelming feelings he has — has always had — for his friend. He's always found Legolas beautiful and kind, and late at night he can't help but wonder what a life together would look like for them. He never entertains the idea for long, though. Not unless he wants to become even more heartbroken.

He doesn't know how Legolas feels towards him. He knows the elf cherishes him as a friend, but if he feels anything deeper, he hasn't shown it.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. He needs to focus.

He listens carefully as he stalks throughout the woods. A good sized stag would be the ideal find, and he knows they populate this area. He only brought a few arrows, but he won't need more than two to catch something if his aim is true. It's about time for the deer to wake up too. Perhaps he'll catch one trying to find its breakfast.

For a while, he hears nothing but his own steps as he weaves through the trees. His footfalls aren't so heavy as to scare something off, there just isn't anything good enough to eat. He's seen a few squirrels and a rabbit or two, but that's not enough.

No more than twenty minutes or so into his venture, he hears the faint rushing of a stream when he strains his ears to make out the sound of possible food. He grins to himself. He's sure to find something to eat near clean water.

He follows the sound, but the stream is much farther than he thought it would be. He's hesitant to leave the Fellowship, but he trusts Gimli and Gandalf with the hobbits.

He has yet to form an opinion on Boromir. The man is brash and haughty, and he's more drawn to the Ring than the rest of them, including the Ring-Bearer. Even ignoring that, something primal in Aragorn wants to throttle him with every time the Man of Gondor attempts to flirt with Legolas.

His attraction is clear as day. He offers to take up the rear with him when they travel and to share warmth at night. He looks at Legolas like he hung the moon, but there is something in his gaze that hints to the Man just wanting his body. There is no hint of the pure love Aragorn has always harbored deep in his chest.

He's angry even thinking about it. He takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. Legolas doesn't belong to him. He doesn't possess him, no matter how much he wants to.

No, he shouldn't think like that. Legolas isn't a thing to be possessed. He's a prince, strong and regal in his own right, and, as Aragorn evidently needs to keep reminding himself, completely independent. Besides, he knows Legolas, and he knows he wouldn't want to be owned.

As he comes closer to the rush of the water, another sound layers on top of it. Soft singing doesn't overpower the stream, but rather blends with it to create something enchanting, more even than Lórien laments.

What makes it all the more beautiful is that the song belongs to Legolas. Aragorn would know his voice anywhere. His Silvan accent wraps around words in a sweet lilt that always has Aragorn's heart skipping in his chest.

As he gets closer, he can make out the soft lyrics, and he frowns. He is not well-versed in Silvan, but he can get by. He picks up words for mourning, bidding the listener to pass on peacefully. It holds the cadence of a lullaby, something a grieving mother would sing to her child in its final moments.

He makes it to the bank of the stream, out of the dense brush, and his breath hitches in his throat.

On the other side of the stream sits Legolas, facing away from Aragorn and cradling something unseen in his arms. His hair is damp and unbraided, falling down his back in loose waves. The moonlight shines through the leaves, illuminating Legolas in silver. His hair and skin catch the stars as he glows in that way all elves do. He's wonderfully slender without his weapons and cloak, and Aragorn finds himself tracing the length of his lithe body with his eyes, and he's eternally grateful that the elf can't see him.

The song ends, and Aragorn knows already that Legolas is aware of his presence.

"You've found me, mellon nîn," Legolas jests, but Aragorn can hear a note of heaviness in his voice.

"Yes," Aragorn says softly. "May I come over?"

"You may," Legolas says, "but you must be quiet."

As silently as he can, Aragorn wades through the shallow stream. He is not as quiet as an elf, but he he more so than any Man. The gap between them is small, and he is by Legolas's side in no time at all. He peers over his head and can finally see what he holds in his arms.

It's a fawn. A baby white-tailed doe with her eyes shut and breathing shallowly. One of her legs is speckled with flecks of dry blood.

Slowly, he sits next to Legolas. Their shoulders touch as Aragorn looks at the fawn. After a moment, his eyes find Legolas's and he's surprised to see unshed tears.

Legolas notices. "So often I am surrounded by death, but there are times where it affects me more than it should." A pale hand lightly strokes the tan, white-spotted fur. "Her leg is wounded. It was twisted and bleeding when I found her and I could do nothing to fix it. She lost too much blood."

A tear falls, and Aragorn resists the urge to wipe it away. Such sadness does not belong on Legolas's face.

"I have nothing to put her out of her misery," he continues. "The least I can do is comfort her. Besides, she is almost gone."

Aragorn can see it. The fawn's breaths become even shorter. Legolas starts to hum, soft and low, comforting even Aragorn. The fawn's eyes blink open for a split second. Their warm brown finds Legolas's light blue before closing again and nestling against his body. Legolas runs his hand up and down the fawns back as she seems to melt into the touch. But Aragorn knows better. She is gone.

Legolas holds her for a moment longer, staring at the small form.

But Aragorn… Aragorn stares at Legolas.

He's the perfect picture of sorrow, as odd as it sounds, and Aragorn has always thought there was something beautiful about grief. The moonlight catches on another fallen tear, and this time Aragorn allows himself to brush it away. Legolas looks up at the action. His blue eyes shine as they look into his, filled with grief and something else. Something Aragorn feels in his own.

His heart swells as he's filled with utter devotion.

I would do anything for you, he thinks unbidden.

"Forgive me," Legolas says. "I don't know what has gotten into me tonight."

"This is a hard time for us all," Aragorn says. "Heightened emotions are only natural."

"Perhaps," Legolas says, though Aragorn knows he doesn't believe it.

He doesn't push. "Should we bury her?" Aragorn asks.

Legolas shakes his head, his swishing hair catching the moonlight and stopping Aragorn's heart in awe. "No. She'll feed something else."

Legolas gently sets the fawn on the soft grass under a tree. He stands and spares one more glance towards her before he turns to wash her blood off his hands in the stream. Aragorn, not knowing quiet what to do, stands beside him to offer some sort of comfort. He's never seen Legolas quite like this before, and is completely at a loss.

Legolas shakes the water off his hands and finally turns to look at Aragorn fully. For the first time, he notices the bow in his hands. He looks up and raises an eyebrow.

"We're out of food," Aragorn says. "I was hunting."

Tasteful, Estel, he thinks uselessly.

Legolas hums. If he's hurt by the prospect of killing a deer right after a fawn died in his arms, he doesn't show it. "You've caught nothing?"

"Well," Aragorn sputters, "that's why I came to the stream. Water means animals."

Legolas fondly rolls his eyes, so different to how they were shining with tears just a few short moments before. "Give me the bow, Estel. I will catch something."

His lower abdomen swoops the way it always does when Legolas says his name, the one given to him by the elves. It's familiar from his lips, warm and welcome.

Wordlessly, he hands the bow and few arrows over to the elf. He looks more comfortable now with a weapon in his arms rather than an dying animal.

Legolas loosely nocks an arrow. "Go back and rest, mellon nîn. I will bring food shortly."

"Thank you, Legolas," Aragorn says.

Legolas smiles at him. It's small but there, and it's all for him. He doesn't look at anyone else the same. It's a smile brought about from decades of friendship and the knowledge that they have each other's backs.

Boromir doesn't get this smile, Aragorn thinks.

In the blink of an eye, Legolas disappears. He's somewhere in the trees, invisible to everyone in the world. The game will never hear him coming.

Aragorn walks slowly back to camp, enjoying having a moment to himself. It's very rare that he gets to be alone these days, and he relishes in it. Very soon, though, his mind is filled with thoughts of Legolas, as it always is.

Rather than thinking of the elf as he usually is, strong and kind and regal with a bow in hand and hair in the wind, Aragorn can't help but picture him as he cradled the fawn. He looked like something out of a painting. The glow of his skin, the starlight on his hair, his downcast eyes, they all make Legolas seem like he he should be immortalized on canvas.

He pauses in a clearing where the trees open up for the sky, and he gazes steadily at the moon and the stars. He loves them dearly for how they let Legolas shine under their light, and even more for illuminating his mourning figure.

He can't get the image out of his mind. He thinks at some point in the brief moment they were together across the stream, Aragorn fell impossibly more in love with him.

When he returns to camp, Legolas has already made it back with a stag shot behind its front shoulder. He and Gimli strip meat from its bones to give to Sam to cook as Merry stands by with salt and spices. Aragorn stands still for a moment, taking in the sight in front of him. If it weren't for the dire circumstances, it would be a nice scene. If all were well, this would be a simple adventure with friends with not a care in the world. But it's not, and they have energy to keep up, so he makes his way over to Legolas and helps pull meat from the stag. The elf glances over and smiles that small smile reserved just for him.

They eat dinner and quickly settle in for the night. Legolas, as always, takes first watch, but tonight he sits closer to Aragorn than usual. He thinks he can see Boromir scowling at him, but it's too dark to truly tell.

He falls asleep with the comfort of Legolas by his side. He dreams of loose blond hair falling over a lost fawn and blue eyes that look at him so earnestly that he wonders, for the first time, if the elf really does love him back.

Notes:

Starting off strong with the poor baby deer. In my defense, my playlist is in alphabetical order

Fair warning, so much of this playlist is Hozier. All his music is just SO them

If you decided to read this, I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you enjoy more one shots in this fic to come! I will probably update frequently but irregularly

If there are typos, take that as proof that I don't use AI. It's finals week, cut me some slack

Have a good day/night, and good luck on finals if you are also suffering through them!

Chapter 2: AD ASTRA

Summary:

After Helm's Deep, Legolas and Aragorn have a discussion of death.

AD ASTRA by STARSET on SILOS

Notes:

This is a short one, I'm sorry

Also very dialogue heavy

Aragorn sags against the cracked stone wall of a crevice in Helm's Deep, catching is breath after the battle. He tries not to seem too worn out, but he can't help it. He's winded, and even the strongest of Men need a few moments to rest.

He looks over the battle field with his back to the wall. The uruk retreated many moments ago and were destroyed by the woods. All that's left now is to clean up and count the dead.

His eyes scan the field. He tries to tally the number of lifeless bodies, but he loses count quickly. The dead blur together in his vision and the more familiar faces he sees, the more the knot in his chest tightens. He's the one who led them to their deaths.

He tries to listen to that voice in his head, the one that sounds suspiciously like an Elven prince, that says they would have died anyways, and more survived with his leadership.

He can listen to it all he wants, but he doesn't have to believe it.

Somewhere in the distance, he can hear the Rohirrim talking amongst themselves. He can hear Gimli's laughter. He can hear Gandalf barking orders to some pour soul. Aragorn knows he should go out there, to leave this little corner he's found for himself, but he doesn't move. His breath his still short and his heart is still too heavy, even in the face of miraculous victory.

He sighs to himself. He can already sense the preparations for a celebration. He doesn't know how anyone could possibly have the energy.

"So, this is where you ran off to."

Aragorn jumps, whipping around and raising his sword. But, instead of an enemy, he sees Legolas.

Legolas, who is looking at him with a small smile, mirth dancing behind his eyes.

Legolas, who despite carrying bloodied arrows, remains as perfect as ever.

If anyone else stared for as long as Aragorn is now, an arrow would be held to their heart at an instant, but Legolas's smile only grows under his attention.

"Meleth nîn," he breathes softly. "You are a sight for sore eyes."

Legolas ducks his head to hide a bashful look, but it does nothing to quell the affection in Aragorn's heart. He finally sheathes his sword and takes the few steps forward to bring him within reach of his elf. He softly grabs Legolas's chin and tilts his head back up, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

When he pulls back, he frowns. "You're trembling."

"I'm alright," Legolas says.

Aragorn narrows his eyes, scanning them over Legolas's body. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm unharmed, Aragorn, I promise."

He clenches his jaw and turns to look out behind the crevice. The living are occupied by gathering the dead, and there is no one who can see them behind this wall.

"No one will hear," Aragorn says, turning back to Legolas. "Tell me what troubles you."

Legolas's smile is gone, but an earnestness still shines in his eyes. "You survived," is all he says, his voice just above a whisper.

"I did," Aragorn says.

"You almost didn't," Legolas says, and his voice finally cracks. There it is. "When you fell, I didn't think you would come back. Then, with the explosion, I saw you on the ground. Neither times could I get to you fast enough."

"Legolas…"

"And this is not even the worst of it," he continues. He's shaking visibly now, and it breaks Aragorn's heart to see.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I can feel it," Legolas says. "In the breeze and in the earth. Something is coming. Something bigger than what we just fought. Sauron's army grows stronger."

"Saruman's forces are destroyed."

"Perhaps," Legolas says, a faraway look in his eyes. "Or perhaps not."

"Be that as it may," Aragorn starts, taking Legolas's free hand, "I still don't fully understand why you worry. It is not the first time I've seen battle, and it is not the first time I have almost died."

Legolas winces, but says nothing.

"Is this about the argument?" he guesses.

Legolas looks at him sharply. "You could have died and I would have had to mourn you knowing the last thing I did was fight with you."

"Is that what you fear?" Aragorn mutters, ignoring the piercing glare. "Mourning me?"

The heat behind the elf's eyes melt into something akin to sorrow as he nods.

"Legolas," Aragorn whispers only for his elf to hear. "Meleth, I will be with you until the bitter end. I swear it on my life."

"Only your bitter end," Legolas says with a grimace. "For me, a bitter eternity."

Aragorn frowns. "You are more worried about this than usual."

"I'm not," Legolas says. "I am just letting it be known."

"Legolas—"

They're interrupted by Gimli appearing loudly, his armor and axe clinking together to make his presence very well known.

"There you two are," he says. "Don't look so troubled, it's time to celebrate! The ale is being prepared as we speak."

Aragorn and Legolas share a look, one promising to continue their discussion later. They follow Gimli up the hill and through the crumbling walls of Helm's Deep. Somewhere along the way, Legolas grabs his hand. He squeezes it once, a solid reassurance that no matter what happens, he's there.

---

He finds Legolas on a balcony later. He's sitting on the railing looking at the stars. His posture looser than usual, the result of his drinking contest with Gimli.

"I believe you're more affected than you let on," Aragorn says in greeting, jumping up on the railing.

The ghost of a smile appears. "I'm used to my father's wine. The ale here is much stronger."

"We Men are victims to our vices."

"Mm."

They sit in silence and look at the sky. Aragorn knows that this is later, that this is when they'll resume their discussion. He also knows Legolas has to be the one to initiate it, so he waits. He idly picks out stars and traces constellations while Legolas is quiet beside him.

He's looking at the one depicting lovers when he finally speaks.

"I didn't know what to do when you fell," he says. "When the orc told me you went down the cliff, I couldn't even think. And when you weren't at the bottom when I looked…"

He trails off. Aragorn looks at him to find tears falling silently. He brings up his hand to brush them away, and Legolas leans into his touch.

"You said you were making yourself known," Aragorn says softly. "Tell me your fears, meleth nîn. They are safe with me."

Legolas takes a deep breath. "I will live an eternity without you. I will witness every age of this world come and go alone. So much time will pass, and I am so afraid that one day I will wake up and forget your face."

Aragorn clenches his jaw. It's been something on his mind ever since they got together, but he never dared to say it out loud. It ignites something ugly in his gut, that Legolas would be so careless as to speak this into existence, but he does his best to push it down.

"If you had died that day," Legolas continues in a hushed tone, "you would have been gone forever. You would not have been immortalized as King. I would have no portraits to remember you by. You would live only in my memory."

"And you don't think your memory is good enough?" His tone is more biting than he wants it to be.

Legolas's shoulders droop as he sighs. "You're worried I'll forget you completely when you're gone."

"I can't say it hasn't crossed my mind," Aragorn says.

Legolas shifts so his shoulder bumps against Aragorn, who sags against his elf instantly. They're both exhausted after the battle and celebration, which is still ongoing in the background. Music and laughter drifts up from the dining hall they escaped from, a stark contrast to the two of them against the night sky.

When Legolas speaks again, it's soft and devout. "If, perhaps, one day I can no longer recall your face and voice, I will never forget your love. I will never forget the best years of my life or the feeling of your lips against mine." He clutches Aragorn's hand. "Maybe there will come a day where I will have to look at a painting of you, a day where I can remember your words but not how they sounded, but you will never be forgotten. You will live on eternally inside of me."

Aragorn is used to being at the end of such passionate words from Legolas, but it has never been like this before. His heart races in his chest at perhaps the most profound declaration of love he's ever heard, even if no such words were said aloud.

"I will live to see the end of this war," he finds himself saying. "I swear it, Legolas. You will not have to mourn me so soon."

"You will not have to mourn me either," Legolas promises.

It's a fear for both of them, that Legolas will be struck down in battle. The chance is slim but there.

Aragorn hops off the railing, dragging Legolas down with him. "Come, meleth. Let us sleep and put this day behind us."

"What about Gimli?" Legolas asks, but he follows along with no question.

"I believe he is still passed out," Aragorn says with a smile. "We shall find him tomorrow feeling unwell, I presume."

Legolas laughs, light and musical, as they make their way through Helm's Deep. He doubts they'll find an unoccupied room, but anywhere is good for the weariness in their bones. They're in no need of privacy tonight.

Notes:

FREE FROM FINALS! I will be spending the next few weeks utterly consumed by aralas and writing as many ideas as I have

It was either this or an unrequited love fic, but I have too many of those planned already. Seriously. When I said some will be sad, I meant it

Thanks for reading and have a good day/night !

Chapter 3: Anniversary

Summary:

It's Legolas and Aragorn's anniversary, the Fellowship eats breakfast, and Gandalf brings gifts.

Anniversary by Autoheart on Punch

Notes:

I wrote most of this while exhausted out of my mind

I also should mention that all of these will vary in length. I have a habit of writing 7000+ word one shots. This is not one of them, but I can't promise there won't be any

Hunting more animals, sorry guys

Legolas can feel in his heart exactly when midnight comes. He feels it as sure as he hears the trees speak.

It's a beautiful night in the middle of spring made all the better by their anniversary. Twenty-six years ago today they married under stars like the ones above him now and celebrated with their families.

Legolas looks down from his perch. He's watching over the Fellowship, who are all asleep (or making a valiant effort to pretend) around the tree he sits in.

He catalogues them all, making sure he can hear their breaths and see their chests rise and fall. He pays extra attention to Frodo and Aragorn, the most important members of this quest.

His eyes linger on his husband. He longs to wake him so they can celebrate, as he's done many times before, but Aragorn is tired. He's led the Fellowship with Gandalf and the pressure weighs on him. This is the first night he's slept more than a few hours in weeks, and Legolas would be remiss to rouse him now.

Below him, Samwise starts to twitch and softly whimper. Legolas jumps down, landing silently between him and Pippin. He sits beside Samwise and starts to hum. It's a low melody, one from his childhood. His father would sing to him when he woke up startled by nightmares of his mother and it was more than enough to send him back to sleep.

Soon enough, Sam calms. He's restful again, and hopefully will not remember his dream.

Legolas climbs back up to his branch after checking on the rest of them. It is a rare occasion where each of his friends are truly and deeply asleep, something they all sorely need.

He closes his eyes and rests his head back against the trunk. He will let his ears do the work for the rest of the night.

---

He opens his eyes again with the first call of a bird. Somewhere in the distance a mourning dove sings, signaling the start of a brand new day.

Legolas jumps down as the sun peeks over the horizon. The Fellowship is still asleep, and he is loathe to wake them.

Perhaps he will only wake Aragorn. The Man has had a sufficient amount of sleep, and he'll know it's their anniversary the moment he wakes. Aragorn prefers to have Legolas to himself this day every year, so perhaps they can find breakfast together.

Yes, that is what he'll do. He walks quietly over to where his husband is curled up under his traveling cloak, no doubt hiding a knife somewhere within reach. Legolas stops at his feet and puts a hand on his calf, gently rousing him.

"It is time to wake up," he says softly.

Aragorn's grey eyes crack open drowsily. Legolas shoves down the guilt at waking him, reminding himself that he would have been more upset if he had been allowed to sleep any longer.

"Legolas…?" Aragorn mutters, looking first at his elf and then the rising sun. He sits up clumsily as Legolas watches in amusement. He tries not to show it, but Aragorn detests the morning.

He runs a hand through wild brown hair and gathers himself. He removes his cloak from his body and fastens it around his neck. He picks up the knife that had been lying under him during slumber and put it in its place at his hip.

Aragorn looks around, scanning the still asleep party. His eyes land on Boromir, and he looks at Legolas with displeasure. "You did not wake him for his watch?"

"You were all so peaceful," Legolas defends.

Aragorn rolls his eyes, but Legolas can see the fondness in them as well as in the small quirk of his lips.

"Soft Elf," he teases. Legolas doesn't even have time to feign offense before Aragorn is in front of him, grabbing his waist and kissing him. "Happy anniversary," he says when he pulls back.

"Happy anniversary, meleth," Legolas says. "Though the circumstances are unfortunate."

"Though they may be, nothing can be truly wrong with you here." Aragorn grins at the blood rushing to his cheeks. "For what reason did you wake me alone?"

"To hunt," Legolas says simply. "Today will be spent in the company of others, but we shall at least have the morning alone."

"Who will watch the Fellowship?" Aragorn asks, but he is already grabbing his bow.

"Don't worry about it," Legolas says. He heard Gandalf stir as they spoke, though he still lays on the ground. "They will be safe, and we won't go far."

They walk on light steps into the woods. When they're far enough away as to not wake their friends, they start quietly conversing. They talk about everything and nothing as they hunt for rabbits. Their first meeting, their wedding, everything that matters and anything that doesn't. A favorite topic of theirs is the day Legolas brought Aragorn back home to meet his father. Aragorn had gone from marveling at Legolas in his formal wear to shaking like a leaf when stood before the Elvenking, who had made an effort that day to be particularly intimidating.

"I am still not entirely convinced that he likes me," Aragorn says as he puts an arrow through a rabbit.

"He does," Legolas assures, shooting another. "You're still alive, after all."

"Funny," Aragorn snarks.

They retrieve the rabbits. Or, at least, Legolas assumes that's what they're doing. He certainly goes to pick his up but it seems Aragorn has elected to leave his for just a moment longer. He pushes Legolas up against a tree before he can get to the rabbit and kisses him senselessly. He's breathless when he pulls back, and Legolas smirks at him.

"Finally found your energy, Ranger?"

"You're beautiful when you shoot." Aragorn presses against him. "The things I would do to you if we were alone…"

"But we are not," Legolas interrupts. He cups Aragorn's face. "After the end, if we survive, you can do anything you've ever dreamed of to me."

Aragorn's lips part and he shudders, but Legolas slips out of his grasp. He collects both of their rabbits since it seems Aragorn is too dumbfounded to move.

"Come Estel. These rabbits are large. They will feed us well this morning."

Aragorn follows obediently, muttering softly to himself in Sindarin about Legolas being his ruin. He has it backwards, though. Aragorn will be Legolas's ruin, and he will welcome it with open arms.

When they return, half the Fellowship is still asleep. Merry, Pippin, and Gimli still lay out under the tree and Boromir is just waking up. Gandalf sits off to the side, leaning on his staff and absentmindedly smoking what seems like their endless stash of pipe-weed. Sam and Frodo sit poking at a fire. They still carry the air of exhaustion, but they look more rested than they have in days.

"Breakfast!" Aragorn announces. Merry and Pippin startle awake, whether at the boom of Aragorn's voice or the promise of food Legolas does not know.

Legolas deposits the rabbits next to Sam, who looks at him with thanks in his eyes and a flush in his cheeks.

"Where did you two run off to?" Boromir asks, sleep lacing his voice.

"Why, hunting, of course," Legolas responds as he starts to skin a rabbit. "Surely you know that we must eat to retain our strength."

Boromir sputters, his sleep-addled mind unable to come up with a response. Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas sees Aragorn smirk to himself where he rouses Gimli. Legolas shakes his head. His husband has always been the jealous type. Not that he minds of course, or that he's any different. If he too were on a journey with someone who so obviously wanted the man he loves, he also would be unable to contain his displeasure.

Of course, he has much more restraint than Aragorn. It's a wonder the Man has not cut off Boromir's head. Truly a miracle of the Valar.

He hands the skinned rabbit off to Sam, who starts to strip and cook the meat. Legolas is about to start on the second when Boromir comes over with a knife in hand.

"Allow me, Legolas," he says. "You hunted, we can prepare."

"Thank you, Boromir," Legolas says. He hands the rabbit off as he stands.

He could make sure his weapons are all in order, but instead he goes over to where Aragorn is sitting against the tree. His pipe is against his lips, but Legolas can't smell the burning of the herbs that seem to have the Fellowship so entranced. He sits next to his husband and leans his head back against the trunk. He closes his eyes and basks in the warmth of the sun and the smell of a hearty breakfast. He feels like a cat by the window on a lovely summer afternoon. If he's not careful, sleep will take him quickly.

"You are tired," Aragorn says in Sindarin. "When is the last time you slept?"

"I—"

"And don't say you don't need sleep."

If Legolas had the energy to open his eyes, to move at all, he'd look affronted. "I can't remember," he says honestly, which is likely the worst answer he could have given.

He can feel Aragorn's steely glare. "You will not take watch at all tonight," he says. "You will let us do it instead."

Legolas sighs. "As you wish, my love."

He hears Aragorn shift closer, brushing his shoulder up against Legolas's. Legolas hums softly and leans into him. He is dangerously close to falling asleep. It is made no better when Aragorn starts to sing quietly. It's a Silvan melody, one Legolas taught him, the only one he knows.

"I must stay awake," Legolas murmurs.

"You may rest for a small while," Aragorn says, resuming his song.

Though Legolas longs to sleep, to bury his face in his husband's shoulder and not wake for hours, he does not. He can smell their meal coming along nicely, and he doesn't want to leave them without his skills and hearing, no matter the skills of everyone else. He only allows himself to relax slightly deeper, to lean a bit more against Aragorn, but he will go no further into darkness than that.

After an indiscernible amount of time in this half-conscious state, Sam announces that breakfast is cooked and prepared. Legolas opens his eyes to see the Fellowship, save for him and Aragorn, gathered around the fire and hastily putting strips of meat and some bread into wooden bowls.

He picks his head up off Aragorn's shoulder but finds that he does not want to move quite yet.

Aragorn stands. "Allow me," he says, and walks over to the fire. Legolas watches lazily as Aragorn fills two bowls and brings them back. He hands one to Legolas, who mutters a soft thanks, and starts eating.

The rabbit is well seasoned thanks to the Hobbits' love for food and Sam's particular culinary expertise. It's no meal from his home, but it's good either way. And most importantly, it gives them energy to get through the day.

He finishes it quickly and takes his and Aragorn's bowls back over to the Hobbits. They insist on carrying everything needed for food, especially since the rest of them are exceptionally good fighters.

"Alright there, Mr. Legolas, sir?" Sam asks as he cleans up. "You seem tired."

"Quite alright, thank you Master Gamgee." Legolas smiles at him. "The meal certainly helped."

Sam flushes under the praise and busies himself with the dishes.

Everyone is standing now, preparing for another day of travel. Though Legolas thrives with this sort of thing, the rest of the Fellowship have started to resent it. Even Aragorn at times can be heard complaining about the sheer amount of waking they do, and he is not one to shun a good quest.

And then there are the less friendly types of terrain. The ones where they all sink into mud or snow. All except for Legolas, who stands atop it with his Elven lightness. Those are the days he receives the most glares, and Aragorn looks at him as if he's trying to decide whether to drag him to the ground or take him to bed.

Safe to say, the energy of a good meal is sorely needed.

Aragorn comes up next to him, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Behind him, Gandalf approaches.

"If we may wait a moment longer to depart," he says to them, but catching the curious attention of the rest, "I bring gifts for you two."

Aragorn and Legolas share a wary look. Gandalf's gifts range anywhere from rare artifacts to explosive spectacles.

He extends his hands to them, each one holding two small things.

In one hand, the one outstretched to Aragorn, Gandalf holds an Elven whetstone, the best in Middle Earth, and a beautiful push dagger, small enough to be concealed but long enough to reach the heart through the flesh. The handle is decorated, the end of it shaped like a silver crescent moon. Aragorn takes it gently, pulling the blade out of its sheath. It's simple but wonderfully sharp, catching the sunlight like a sparkling threat.

To Legolas, Gandalf holds a velvet, wine-colored pouch and a beautifully carved wooden comb. He takes the comb first. It's a perfect weight and texture, the dark wood smooth and stained. It's engraved, a small scene of an elk in the woods. It swirls with stylized leaves and flowers and reminds Legolas of his home. He next takes the pouch and marvels at how light it is. He hears the clacking inside, and opens it to find a small sea of silver. He pours the contents out in his hand and is surprised to find mithril beads. They're light and beautiful, designed with motifs that reflect nature, and are the preferred shape Legolas likes to use in his hair. With the beads is also a larger clasp, still mithril, decorated with antlers.

They both look up at Gandalf, holding his gifts as if they were the Rings of Power themselves.

"Hannon le, Mithrandir," Legolas says. Aragorn echoes him. He can feel the gaze of the rest of the Fellowship on them, but he only focuses on the twinkle in Gandalf's eyes.

Gandalf smiles. "Happy anniversary, my friends. May you have many more to come."

Around them, their friends explode.

"Anniversary?"

"They're married?"

"By Durin…"

"They're married!"

"We should celebrate!"

Fondness blooms in Legolas's chest, but Aragorn looks flustered under the attention and excitement. Merry and Pippin babble on about a celebratory feast, and Aragorn waves a hand to quiet them down.

"Could we stop for lunch, at least?" Pippin asks. "Make a proper picnic out of it, with meat and bread and fruit?"

Aragorn looks at Legolas with wide eyes begging for help, and Legolas can't help but laugh at him.

"Of course, Pippin," Legolas says. "A moment of rest later would do us all good."

Pippin pumps his fist in victory, and he and Merry start brainstorming exactly how it should go. They rope Sam into it, and even Frodo looks pleased by the idea of celebrating something good for the first time in weeks.

The Hobbits chat as they start another day of walking. Aragorn takes up the rear with Legolas, brushing their shoulders and looking at the dagger.

"It is very beautiful," Legolas says.

Aragorn nods. "So are the beads. When we stop for lunch, would you allow me to put them in your hair?"

Legolas grins. He can feel the love in his heart and behind his eyes. "Of course, meleth nîn."

Notes:

This has been your please eat breakfast PSA

When Aragorn says "funny" just know I was hearing it in Ventress's voice

I love Boromir I promise, but making him jealous is just SO fun

There are 3 more fics in the A section if you were curious for whatever reason

Hope you enjoyed, and have a good day/night!

Chapter 4: As It Was

Summary:

Arwen is gone, and Aragorn finds himself falling in love again.

As It Was by Hozier on Wasteland, Baby!

Notes:

When I tell you the formatting was kicking my ass

He dreams of her every night after she's gone. Her hair, her touch, her lips on his. He sees and feels her again when he sleeps and she's gone from him the moment he wakes.

And every day, he has to go through the motions. He has to be the King of a people he does not truly fit into without the love of his life by his side. He has to rule, has to be good, surviving every day as if he'll see her again. As if she's not really gone, but only just away for a bit.

It's not true, though. She's gone, well and truly, and Aragorn must manage.

Most days he wakes up with the Sun. She shines on him through the cracks in the curtains encouraging him, begging him, to go on with his life, and every day he listens. Aragorn gets up, gets dressed, eats breakfast, and meets with whoever he needs to, and he does it all with a heavy heart and a soul violently torn in half.

It goes on like this for months. His grief changes. Her loss doesn't get more bearable, but he finds that he can exist in an easier way. The void in his heart is still there but he can breathe a little deeper, smile a little wider, sleep a little longer.

One night, when he lies down in a room that feels much too big, he expects to see her again, and he does. Her hand is outstretched, holding something on a silver chain. He takes her hand, the way he has in life and in dreams so many times before, expecting to be given the Evenstar. He is, but when he looks up, he is not met with dark hair and blue eyes in the middle of Rivendell. He instead stares into kind brown eyes at Helm's Deep. Legolas smiles at him while telling him how awful he looks and Aragorn startles awake.

The moon is still high, but he doesn't feel like he can go back to sleep. He's restless. His heart is pounding now, but he doesn't have to be up for another few hours at least.

He remembers, suddenly, his time with the Fellowship on a night he couldn't sleep. It was early on in their journey and he was riddled with nerves, though he tried not to make it obvious. After hours of trying to sleep, he finally relented and sat up. Legolas, who was lying on his back and staring at the stars, looked up at him.

"You're still awake," he had quietly pointed out.

Aragorn had nodded, telling his friend in hushed tones about his rapid heartbeat and the thoughts of their quest that would not settle down.

Rather than persuading him to go back so sleep, Legolas told him to take a bow and start to shoot.

"Why?" he had asked.

"It's what I do at home," Legolas explained. "The repetitive motion and physical exertion will tire you out, and if it doesn't, it should at least be calming."

So Aragorn did. He took his bow and Legolas's quiver and walked only a small way into the woods. He found a tree with a knot at eye level and spent the next hour shooting at it over and over. He hit is mark more often than not, but Legolas would have hit it every time, and part of Aragorn felt like he was disrespecting the Elven arrows with his worse aim.

He does not have the stamina of an elf, so he tired much faster than one. His arms burned and his palms sweated. He gathered the arrows lodged in the bark and handed them gracelessly back to Legolas. The elf just smiled up at him and pulled out a whetstone.

"Go to sleep, mellon nîn," Legolas murmured. Aragorn let the repetitive sounds of arrows being sharpened lull him to sleep.

Here and now, though, in Minas Tirith, Aragorn can't exactly wander into the woods. He's well aware of would-be assassins and the utter panic that would occur if the High King was found missing from his bedchambers.

But, then again, there are parts of the palace that aren't in use. Rooms large enough to be a suitable makeshift shooting ground. If memory serves, there should be a room like that just downstairs and to the left.

With his mind made up, Aragorn puts on a tunic and boots and grabs his hunting bow. He'll shoot until the sun comes up.

---

The dreams of Legolas don't stop, and Aragorn isn't exactly sure what to do about that. For weeks after the first one, they continue in much the same manner. He's with Arwen, he looks away for a split second, and then he's with Legolas. And each time, Legolas has the same starstruck look in his eyes that Arwen had.

Then comes a night when he only dreams of Legolas. It occurs after a letter from the elf arrived from Mirkwood, asking after him and Gondor and wondering when a good time to visit would be. That night, with the letter folded up on his night stand, Aragorn dreams only of blond hair. When he wakes the next morning, he's the most rested he's been in a very long time.

Days later, as he sits through a meeting he'd rather not be in, he remembers that Legolas loves him. Perhaps remembers isn't the right word. It feels like a realization even though he's known for years, should have known for years, ever since the day of Helm's Deep when Legolas gave him his sword after their argument.

"Éowyn was right," he had said softly, after Aragorn had said there was nothing to forgive. "We fight because we love you. I would die for no one else."

Aragorn hadn't had time to unpack that, let alone respond, before Gimli came in.

Here and now, nine years after that confession, in this meeting, instead of thinking anything relevant to the state of his country, all he can think is, Is he still in love with me?

Then, about twenty minutes later when he dismisses the other lords, he thinks, Am I in love with him too?

He sits alone at the round table of his conference room. He takes his crown off (he hates the thing) and sets it down unceremoniously on the polished wood. He tips his chair back and throws his legs up on the table. He loves moments like this where he gets to be informal. He doesn't necessarily hate being the King, but he despises the formality and decorum that goes into it.

He tips hip head back and closes his eyes. When he does, he's flooded by memories of Legolas. He's assaulted by wide eyes that reflect the stars and golden hair in intricate braids. He remembers the elf at his coronation, decked out in silver and white looking more regal than Aragorn could ever hope to be. He looked like a bride that day, and he remembers how his heart stopped in his chest.

Have I always been in love with him?

He can't have been. He had Arwen, and he knows he was madly in love with her. She consumed his thoughts, and he always found himself going back to her. Not loving her is completely out of the question, not when she lived—and still lives—in his heart.

But maybe Legolas has been in his heart as well. Not over Arwen, but next to her.

He remembers the feeling of Legolas's hands on him after thinking Merry and Pippin were dead, after he came back from falling off the cliff, after the Palantir. Legolas is a warrior, and so his touch is often a violent one, but he has always been gentle with Aragorn.

The letter that those gentle hands wrote still sits on Aragorn's night stand. He picks it up again that night, reading over the elegant handwriting until his eyes once again fall on the post script.

PS. When would be a good time to visit Gondor? I so dearly miss your company and I wish to see you again.

PPS. You are welcome in the halls of the Elvenking any time. You need only let the Guard know that you are Estel, friend of the Prince. No foreword is required.

He sits on his bed and looks out to the setting sun. He hasn't seen Legolas since before he lost Arwen. He sent a message informing him of what happened, to which Legolas had replied with sympathy and support. Since then they've communicated scarcely, and Aragorn is hit with the sheer force of how much he misses him.

He looks back down at the letter, considering.

No foreword is required.

---

He's two days from Mirkwood.

Brego walks beside him as he wanders down the path. He's taken most of this journey by horse, but the road he walks now is too pretty to not enjoy. It's a beautiful, warm sunny day where the blue sky is scattered about with clouds. There's the slightest breeze that picks up his hair as birds chirp at each other in the distance. The grass on either side of the dirt path is littered with bright pink foxglove that Aragorn has to stop Brego from eating. He feeds him a parsnip instead, which he seems perfectly content with.

The best part of his travels by far is that he gets to be Strider again. He gets to let his hair run wild and his clothes get dirty. His head isn't weighed down by the crown, but instead the weight is on his hip from his sword. He feels lighter than he has in almost a year.

There are also the braids. For the first time since he was very young, he braided his hair the way Elrond taught him when he was a boy.

Perhaps he should ask Legolas to do them before he leaves in the same fashion as he did before the Black Gate.

He and Brego walk until nightfall. When the sun sets, he walks into the grass and sets up camp under a tree surrounded by foxglove. When he falls asleep, he dreams of his friend dancing gracefully through the woods.

The next day, he hops back up on Brego and rides towards Mirkwood. He has been there only once before, but he remembers the way.

He arrives just before twilight. There's a path through the dark wood that wasn't there when he last visited, and he assumes it's because the Enemy is finally being driven out. He eagerly awaits the day Mirkwood is no more and Greenwood the Great stands in its place, as it had once before.

Eventually he comes to a bridge. He climbs off of Brego when he reaches the end of it and lands in front of Elven guards.

"I am Estel," he says in Sindarin. "I am a friend of the Prince, and I wish to see him."

One of the guards raises an eyebrow and gives the other a cautious look and says something in Silvan. The other elf nods and looks at Aragorn.

"Come with us," he says as the other takes Brego's reigns.

He's led through stone and woven through trees. Mirkwood elves glance at him curiously as he passes by, but he pays them no mind. He does notice that the shadow of grief and darkness that covered these woods many years ago has started to lift some. Aragorn smiles to himself. He knows Legolas is a good part of the reason.

They deposit Aragorn, curiously, on a bench outside the carved stone caverns that serve as the King's halls.

"The Prince will be here shortly," is all one of the guards says before they both walk away with his horse.

So Aragorn sits in the middle of Mirkwood proper. He itches to bring out his pipe but he knows the elves aren't too fond of smoking. Instead he fiddles with the rings on his fingers, looking idly up at the sky through the trees while waiting for Legolas to return.

He sits there for an indeterminate amount of time. At some point he closes his eyes and basks in the moonlight. Then he feels a presence next to him.

He opens his eyes to see Legolas sitting on the bench beside him. His brown and green clothes are dirty and unkempt and his braids are coming undone, letting his starlit hair fall over his face. His friend is smiling softly at him, his brown eyes so full of love as he looks into Aragorn's, so eerily reminiscent of how he looked at him during the coronation.

He looks beautiful.

If I wasn't sure before, I'm sure now.

"Estel," Legolas greets gently in Westron. "How was your journey?"

Aragorn beams at him. A true, genuine smile, something he hasn't done since Arwen.

"It was freeing," he says. "More than I thought it would be."

"I'm glad," Legolas says. "Though I must confess, I'm surprised to see you here."

Aragorn raises a brow. "You told me no foreword was needed."

"Ah, don't think I do not want you here," Legolas says. "I'm merely surprised you came so soon. I'm very glad for it."

"You are?" He can't help how small his voice is.

"Of course." Legolas grabs his hand. "I meant it, Estel. You're welcome here any time."

"Thank you, my friend," Aragorn says in Sindarin. He adores how Legolas's accent wraps around the words of Men, but he loves even more their shared first language.

"There you are," Legolas jests. "I was worried you had forgotten. You've been in the world of Men for so long."

"I could never forget the language of the elves, nor would I wish to."

"Good."

They sit in silence for a moment. Aragorn focuses on the feeling of Legolas's hand on his. So often the elf touches him, but there's a weight behind this one. Is it because they have not seen each other in a long time, or is it something else?

"I did come for a reason, Legolas," he says. "Is there somewhere private we could talk?"

Legolas nods. "I'll take you to my chambers. We shall not be disturbed there."

His breath hitches at the prospect of being in Legolas's room, but Legolas either does not notice or does not comment. He rises, still holding Aragorn's hand, and leads him though his home. Mirkwood is more beautiful than he remembers, but then, the last time he was here he was dragging Gollum through the gates to hand over to the elves.

Legolas brings him to a wooden door at the end of a hall and pulls him inside. The door shuts, and Aragorn becomes acutely aware that he's alone with someone he might be in love with, and there is a bed right in front of them.

And, to make matters worse, Legolas starts undressing, reminding Aragorn of the shamelessness of the Woodland Realm.

"What do you need to talk about?" Legolas asks casually while unbuttoning his tunic and letting it fall off his pale body. Aragorn knows he should look away but he can't bring himself to, not when Legolas is so clearly okay with letting him see.

He takes a breath, gathering his thoughts. "Do you remember the night of Helm's Deep, just before the battle?"

Legolas pauses. He looks at Aragorn, almost staring through him, with sharp eyes. Aragorn thanks every higher power that he hasn't started taking his pants off yet.

"I do," Legolas says cautiously, his face perfectly impassive. "What about that night bothers you so many years after the matter?"

Aragorn steps forward. He ignores how Legolas is shirtless and how dirty they both are from days spent in the wild. He retakes Legolas's hand, rubbing small circles into soft flesh as he gathers his courage.

"Did you mean it?" he asks.

He sees Legolas's jaw twitch. "Mean what?"

"Don't play coy with me, elf," Aragorn says lightly. "Did you mean it when you said you were in love with me?"

Something like fear rises in Legolas's eyes, but Aragorn doesn't look away. Notably, neither does Legolas.

"Of course I did," he whispers. "How could I not love you?"

"Oh, Legolas…" He realizes, for the first time, that he does not know how long Legolas had been harboring those feelings. Was it since they met, or perhaps the first time he came to Mirkwood? How long has Legolas hidden is true feelings because Aragorn's heart belonged to another?

"Do you still?" he asks. "Love me?"

"Estel," Legolas cups his face, and Aragorn finds himself leaning into the touch. "I could never stop."

Aragorn can say nothing to that. There are no words to describe how Legolas's statement makes his heart swell and his abdomen swoop, just like when he fell in love with Arwen.

It's so easy, he thinks, loving them both.

He scans Legolas's face. He takes in his eyes and his lips and every strand of white gold hair that crosses above perfect skin. Absently, he brushes the hair behind one ear, and Legolas shudders when his hand brushes over the pointed tip.

"What are you truly doing here, Estel?" Legolas breathes. They're so close now, he doesn't need to raise his voice any more.

"I've been thinking about you," Aragorn says bluntly. "I see your face in my dreams and you're on my mind more and more often as the days go by."

"Aragorn," Legolas warns, "you cannot be… you just lost Arwen, and—"

"Yes, I did," Aragorn interrupts. "And I loved her so dearly, but she is gone now, and it has been almost a year. And yet, despite my grief for her, I find myself loving again. I think, Legolas, that I have been in love with you for a very long time."

Legolas gasps softly, his eyes shining with hope. He studies Aragorn's face intently, looking deep into his eyes as if he'll find a lie hidden in the grey.

"You truly mean it?" he asks, his voice quavering with emotion.

"I do," Aragorn assures. "I do not know when it started, but it must have always been there, growing in my heart."

He can see in Legolas's eyes how hope wars with fear. He can't bear to see it any longer.

"Legolas," he whispers, inching his face closer, "may I kiss you?"

He watches as Legolas's eyes widen almost comically before he is the one suddenly being kissed. Legolas has one hand in his hair and one on his jaw, kissing him fiercely as if it's the last thing he'll ever do.

When Legolas finally pulls back, he can feel his swollen lips. Legolas's pupils are blown wide as he looks at Aragorn like he's something to be devoured. Gently, he grabs Aragorn's hand and leads him to the bed, pushing him down on soft linen without caring about the dirt that clings to both of their bodies.

"You will stay the night," Legolas softly demands. "You will stay as long as you wish. You may leave whenever, but tonight, you are mine."

"I wouldn't wish to be anywhere else."

Notes:

Don't ask me what happened to Arwen because I have no idea

This one was so fun to write, but also some of it was written in urgent care

I hope you enjoyed, and have a good rest of or day/night :)

Chapter 5: As Long as You're Mine

Summary:

Legolas and Aragorn fall into bed together after the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

As Long As You're Mine by Cynthia Erivo and Jonathan Bailey on Wicked: For Good

Notes:

Bit of a short one for you that I wrote in the span of about two hours while rewatching Wake Up Dead Man and Knives Out. In fact Knives Out is still on as I'm posting this

It was only natural, really. They couldn't have ended up anywhere else.

It was just a result of battle. That's all it was. At least, that's what Legolas tells himself as he sits on the windowsill watching over an undressed, sleeping Aragorn.

His eyes trail over his battle-hardened body. He takes in rough, tanned skin that disappears at the torso under a thin sheet, and he knows exactly what that white linen is hiding. He became intimately aware with it last night.

The battled had ended. They had been victorious. They had survived.

It really was only natural.

Legolas has never been good at being idle. He's always in motion, whether it be in battle or dancing through the trees. He had gone from shooting enemies constantly to suddenly having nothing to stick an arrow through. His fingers twitched at every movement, and he longed to nock an arrow again, but every motion was made by a friend or horse. He very nearly almost shot Gimli at least a dozen times, and each time the Dwarf sent him a withering look.

He tried to bask in their victory. He attempted to catch his breath and let his hands hang restful by his sides, but he could not. He busied himself with retrieving as many arrows as he could, but it wasn't stimulating enough. He was trembling, longing to get out some of his pent up energy but with nowhere to put it.

He had quickly gathered his arrows. Some offered more strength to remove as they had been shot through multiple orcs at once. He was particularly proud of a shot through the necks of two he had made without looking.

When he pulled the last one from an eye socket, he felt Aragorn come up next to him. He straightened up, wiping the orc blood on his sleeve and depositing the arrow in his quiver, and looked at his friend.

Instantly Legolas could tell Aragorn was suffering the same adrenaline rush he was. Even if he couldn't see the slight shaking and fiddling with his fingers, he could almost smell it on the Man under the stench of the feats of battle.

He looked wonderful covered in blood and grime with his hair escaping the braids Legolas wove into his hair. He never had a doubt that Aragorn would look amazing as the King, but he always preferred his look in the wild.

"You're restless," Aragorn had casually observed.

"As are you," Legolas responded. "We won."

"We did."

"We lived." Both of them, and Gimli too. Legolas could hardly believe it. He still can't. Their journey was not without loss, for they still mourned Boromir, but he had been expecting most, if not all of them to die. He expected to never see his home again.

"We did," Aragorn said again. "And yet you're tense as if you're expecting another wave." He frowned. "Is there another wave coming?"

Legolas didn't even need to strain his ears before saying, "No. We are safe."

Aragorn cocked his head. "Then why…?" He gave Legolas a once over, checking for injuries or anything else.

"It is just the effects of battle," Legolas assured. "It did not go on long enough for me to release my energy."

"I see," Aragorn muttered, and he did. Legolas could see it in him, the way his grip tightened on his sword the same way Legolas's did on his bow when motion appeared in his periphery. "Perhaps we can expel some energy cleaning up."

Legolas grimaced as he looked around at the dead and dying. There were many fallen soldiers to bury.

"We have much to do," Aragorn said. "We must be absolutely certain we are victorious." He grasped Legolas's shoulder, who grasped back on instinct. "We shall aid and bury them, but come find me when all is done."

Aragorn walked away with not another word, only the weight of a promise left behind.

They spent days cleaning the Pelennor Fields, burying the dead and healing the wounded. It was constant work, especially for one as tireless as Legolas. They were able to work more freely once witnessing Mount Doom collapse in on itself. They did not have to keep a constant eye out or be weighed down by unnecessary weapons.

Despite the never ending effort and movement, adrenaline still thrummed in Legolas's veins. It was starting to unnerve him. Never before had be been so worked up after a battle, not at Helm's Deep nor any fight he participated in back home in Mirkwood. He tried to pick up more to do to settle himself, but nothing worked, though the post-battle jobs went quickly with how he was flitting from one task to the next.

Even when the dead were buried and Sam and Frodo were brought down from the mountain, there was no time for Legolas to find Aragorn. They saw each other at meals and passed each other on the Fields and in Minas Tirith, but there was no time to talk alone. In the dead of night, when there was less for Legolas to do, Aragorn would sleep, and Legolas wouldn't dare wake him.

The singing in his veins never ceased. Even Gimli noticed and offered to spar, but it did little good, though Legolas appreciated the fight. It felt like his heart was trying to escape his chest and the one person who could keep in inside him was so busy he was hardly ever seen.

Then, finally, there was a lull in activity, which was good for Legolas's worn body but bad for his need for action.

But it meant there was a moment to find Aragorn.

The Man was in the palace in the White City, where he had been residing since the end of the battle. Aragorn did not sleep in the King's chambers, but rather in a room on the second level meant for guests. Legolas appeared and knocked, and Aragorn almost instantly let him in.

"How is it you still look so beautiful after weeks of constant activity?" Aragorn asked once he shut the door.

Legolas's eyebrows shot up. Aragorn called him beautiful before, but never in such blunt terms. Legolas is particularly fair, even among his kin, and Aragorn was just another person in the world to notice. For years, though, it had done nothing to let his eyes wander from Arwen.

"It is my privilege as the Woodland prince," he said jokingly. There were rumors among Elven lands that the Mirkwood royals were effortlessly ethereal, but Legolas knew better. As did Aragorn, who snorted at his words.

Aragorn stepped closer to him, almost trapping Legolas against the door. "You're still tense," he said. "Perhaps it is not noticeable to anyone else, but it is to me. Weeks it's been since the battle. The Ring is destroyed and Frodo recovers in Rivendell. Is there no way to let your energy out?"

Legolas held back a shudder. He'd always dreamt of having Aragorn so close to him. He knew exactly how he could get this energy out, but he couldn't do it with Aragorn.

"There is," he said quietly. "And yet, I cannot."

"Oh?" Another step closer. The ghost of a touch. "And why is that?"

"He belongs to another," Legolas whispered.

Aragorn's body pressed against his, their lips so close he could feel his breath. "And if the one he belonged to has sailed?"

"Then that would be up to him," Legolas said, and his lips brushed against Aragorn's, "for he knows how I feel."

Aragorn kissed him fiercely for his words. His body was against Legolas and Legolas was against the wall as he kissed him back with the passion he felt for decades. He poured the love he kept hidden into Aragorn's body as sword-calloused hands quickly undid his dirty green and brown clothes.

"We'll be busy again come the morning," Aragorn said between kisses and bites on his neck. "The coronation, the preparations…"

Legolas pushed him back. "So this is just for tonight?"

"I don't know," Aragorn confessed. "I admit I am… uncertain of what the future holds for us."

Legolas warred with himself. He didn't know if a night with Aragorn would break his heart more if it was only one time or if he didn't sleep with him at all. But he felt again the rushing in his veins and how it only started to subside as Aragorn kissed down his neck.

He pulled his friend in for another bruising kiss. "Even if this is our only night together," he breathed, "it would have been more than I ever dared to dream."

They fell into bed properly after that, and there they stayed for hours.

Aragorn fell asleep after it all in the early hours of the morning. Legolas, though not tired, finally felt sated.

So now here he sits against the window, the moonlight illuminating his naked back. He watches over Aragorn, looking at the rise and fall of his chest as his mind races.

He doesn't want this to be a one-time thing, and he suspects Aragorn doesn't either. But Legolas can feel something on the horizon, a foil to a possible future together. Something beyond their royal duties to their people that would keep them apart.

He doesn't want to leave Aragorn, but he must. Whatever there is to come, if it comes, this night never happened.

He picks his clothes up from the floor and dresses swiftly. He re-braids his hair with deft fingers and the quickness that comes from centuries of practice. From what he can only barely make out of his reflection in the window, he looks put-together again.

He walks over to the bed where Aragorn remains asleep. He lightly cups his cheek with one hand, and even that light touch is enough to rouse Aragorn, but only slightly. He's half-awake and mostly asleep, and Legolas knows he'll have only a hazy memory of this moment when he wakes.

"I must go," Legolas whispers. Aragorn grumbles in response. "I shall see you tomorrow, and I will stand with you at your coronation. Beyond that, I do not know." His grey eyes are cracked open but he doesn't have the energy or presence of mind to move. Legolas leans down and kisses him softly on the lips. "Goodbye for now, meleth nîn."

He pulls the sheet up to cover the top half of Aragorn's body before quietly slipping out. No one will see him, for he does not wish to be seen. He leaves the palace and the White City and climbs a tree on the outskirts of the walls. He stays concealed in the branches until the sun comes up and prepares himself for a day of forgetting the night before.

Notes:

Sorry y'all I don't like smut

Is it cheating when you think your gf sailed to Valinor and left you forever so you sleep with your best friend about it and then find out like two weeks later that your gf didn't actually leave like you thought?

Have a good whatever time of day it is where you are!